


157

by MoftissslilWriter



Series: 157 (The Extended Series) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU ending, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, Handcuffs, Kink Inventory, Light Bondage, M/M, Riding Crop, Spanking, Switching, bondage tape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoftissslilWriter/pseuds/MoftissslilWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock decide to try to have a casual sexual relationship, then things get more serious...in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

            The relationship between John and Sherlock was generally understood by both parties: each found themselves falling in love with the other, but neither doing a damn thing about it. They both recognized their own feelings, and they saw the marks of love present in their flat mate, but fear and timing seemed to make fools of both men. Sherlock feared his lack of social graces would mean he would frighten John off, while John feared he was misreading Sherlock or that Sherlock would never want to have an actual romantic relationship. Still, whenever one of the men bucked up the courage to, perhaps, make a move, without fail, life somehow got in the way. As a result, for one hundred and fifty-seven days now, Sherlock and John have lived in relationship purgatory. The one hundred and fifty-seventh day, Sherlock stopped counting, because on the one hundred and fifty-seventh day things began to change: on that day, John and Sherlock met Irene Adler, and thus the whirlwind started.

            It began at their first meeting: where Ms. Adler intrigued Sherlock, she deeply unsettled John. To be fair, John’s reaction had most to do with the fact that she was blatantly flirting with Sherlock, and, horror of all horrors, Sherlock seemed to awkwardly respond. She made John very uneasy, more uneasy than half the murders, bombers, and rapists he had come across in his time with Sherlock.

  _“There’s a back door- better check it, Doctor Watson.”_

Though the sounds of her voice asking him to do something made John want to say no, he figured that the prospect of armed intruders was more important than John’s petty need for disobedience, so when Sherlock gave him the slight “go ahead” nod, he reluctantly left Sherlock with that woman. 

 When John returned to see Sherlock on the floor, worry took hold immediately: was he alright? Worry became intermixed with anger: so help him God, if Sherlock was hurt…

Concern and confusion won out in the end: John’s main concern was to get Sherlock home and safe. With the help of Lestrade, he managed to get the drugged-to-kingdom-come detective back to the flat and into bed, safe and sound.

            John slept little that night. His brain refused to rest- John ran through the events of the day, how close they came to death, how much Ms. Adler made him reel, and how much the thought of loosing Sherlock physically hurt. With that last thought haunting his brain, John got up to check on Sherlock every hour, plus every time he heard any abnormal sound from the general direction of Sherlock’s room. It was paranoid and unnecessary, but it wasn’t like Sherlock was in any state to reprimand him for doing it, so John went about acting upon his paranoia into the early morning hours.

 

            By eight o’clock, Sherlock was awake and fully functioning- though this did surprisingly little to ease John’s fretting. It seems the poor doctor had consumed enough tea for the caffeine to wind him up into a constant state of anxiety. What did not help this anxiety was the fact that, as John had finally sat down to eat breakfast with Sherlock, Mycroft decided to pay them a visit. Surprisingly, in the end, this calmed John, as Mycroft’s visit inspired Sherlock’s drive to verbally assault his brother, therefore finally convincing him that Sherlock was, indeed, fully functioning mentally. That didn’t stop him from being thrilled when Sherlock played Mycroft out, though.

            As the last of Mycroft’s footfalls could be heard, John stood to clear the dishes. Sherlock continued playing random song after random song as John tided up the flat, taking over from where Mrs. Hudson had left off. Suddenly, the music stopped, causing John to turn around immediately. Sherlock simply stared at John.

John quirked an eyebrow. Sherlock continued to stare at John.

 

“What?” John finally asked.

 

“What would you do if I suggested a sexual relationship between us?” Sherlock’s face betrayed nothing.

 

“Uh…” John’s brain tried to provide words, but none were quite right, especially given the fact he didn’t know what to say. Was now his chance to move forward in his relationship with Sherlock? God, he hoped so…but this wasn’t a movie, it wouldn’t be this easy- “I’d assume it was part of an experiment or something….”

 

“An experiment? You wound me, John,” Sherlock quirked a smile, “And what if I say I’m completely serious?”

 

“I’d say I’m for it, but wait and see. I still wouldn’t trust it.” John tried to maintain humor in his voice, unsure of exactly how to act in the situation.

                                                        

“Interesting...” Sherlock smiled, but still John didn’t like the sound of that.

 

“Interesting?”

 

“Intriguing, really.”

 

“Okay…why is it intriguing?”

 

“Because I figured you’d rather have a sexuality crisis than admit you’d like to have sex with me.”

 

“Well, I like sex…”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sherlock said with an air of finality, before beginning to play again, leaving John to ponder exactly what the hell just happened. Had Sherlock hit is head when he fell? Because that was entirely uncalled for and disturbing and out of line and…hell, John didn’t know. Then, like every stereotypical English man faced with a dilemma, John made tea.

 

            Sherlock played a medley of several songs John had never heard before, composed a bit (which was never a good sign,) and then plucked at the strings for a solid half hour. John would have loved to know what was going on in Sherlock’s funny old head, but he found he was more afraid of the answer. Instead of voicing his concerns and curiosity, John instead puttered about his morning routine, drinking his tea as if it was ambrosia.

 

            The boys went about their day as if nothing happened, each entertaining themselves within the flat as the day dragged on. Around seven o’clock, Sherlock suggested they go to Angelo’s for dinner; thinking nothing of it, John agreed and the duo piled into a cab and arrived at the restaurant without incident. It wasn’t until they were well into their meal that John started to rethink the idea- mainly because of the text he received from Sherlock as they ate:

 

**What would you do if I asked you to suck your cock: right here, right now- SH**

John almost forgot how to breathe. One text and there was warmth pooling below his belt, how pathetic was that? Somehow Sherlock turned him into a teenage boy again, worried that a single truly filthy thought would make something…pop up. Regaining composure, John typed out his response:

 

**Ha. You’re funny.**

God, he hoped this was all a big joke- it would be far simpler if this was just Sherlock “experimenting” on him.

 

**You and I both know I’m being entirely serious, John.- SH**

Okay, this was getting absolutely ridiculous. To be honest, ridiculous was something they passed long, long ago- still, this was too far. No more playing along, no more being Sherlock’s experiment:  
  
 **What the hell is wrong with you??**

**Nothing at all; I’m perfectly well.- SH**

**Can we not just have a normal dinner?**

  
  
**I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in dinner.-SH**

**Why?**

**Because I’m obviously sexually attracted to you and I’m tired of waiting, obviously.-SH**

            John sighed- for all the things his mad flat mate put him through, this was up there with some of the worst.

 

“So you’re serious, then?” John asked cautiously, looking up at Sherlock for the first time since the initial text:

 

“I’m rarely not, John, this is no exception.”

 

“Well then…right.”

 

A pause, long and pregnant.

“What’s brought this on, then?” John ventured to ask.

 

“Did I not make it clear? I’m tired of waiting.”

 

Slowly things began to click in John’s head. It took no more than fifteen seconds for the pieces to fall together:  
  
“This is about what Mycroft said, isn’t it? He insinuated you didn’t know about sex, and now you want to prove him wrong- I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I’m bloody well not going to shag my best mate to help him in his feud with his brother…”

 

“John. I can assure you that while I will admit it reminded me that it has been a while, this is not retaliation towards my brother. In fact, I would really, really rather not mention him in this discussion, thank you. I am not the virgin I am made out to be, and I am in no way wanting to use you as any kind of display to the contrary. I simply wish to have sexual relations with you, satiating my desires without going outside of the pre-existing relationship I am comfortable with.   Satisfied?”  
  
Satisfied? Yeah, no. Did he believe Sherlock’s motives? To an extent. Was he comfortable being what was, in essence, fuck buddies with Sherlock? His mind knew that the first rule or fuck buddies was to go in and maintain a level of non-romantic attachment, and he also knew he was beyond that point. However, his right mind and logical decision making functions were drown out by the part of his brain connected to his…lower half.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then do we have an understanding? Are you consenting to such an arrangement?”

 

.”…yes.”

 

“I’ll hail us a cab.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus the smut begins...

            A cab? Hail a cab, to go back to the flat, to have sex? Now? John’s mind raced as he fought to not betray his increasing case of the nerves, trying to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe. All of John’s fantasies were almost guaranteed to come true presently, why was he loosing his cool? John’s logical brain knew the answer, but apparently, John stopped listening to his logical brain- instead, he focused on “acting cool,” following Sherlock as he headed toward the street.

             It took no more than a minute for Sherlock to flag down a cab, opening the door for the shorter man, and then piling in behind him. Sherlock looked over to John, as if to check for any sign of him changing his mind, finally settling on looking straight into his eyes. Then, in a voice that was sinfully dropped an octave, Sherlock ordered the driver “221 Baker Street,” his gaze never leaving John.

“And if you get us there in under fifteen minutes, there’s thirty quid in it for you,” added John, earning him a smirk from Sherlock. 

            Sherlock broke eye contact long enough to initiate another form of contact- he placed his hand high on John’s thigh, his thumb brushing lightly. John tried not to hint as to how much that slight touch affected him, electing to stare out the window, instead, biting his lip. Sherlock counted that as a victory, continuing his silent torture. Once they reached their destination, Sherlock took his sweet time getting out of the cab, watching as John threw a wad of cash at the cabbie, and then turned to Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed his hand, pulling him behind him as he moved inside and unlocked the flat, leading both parties inside the living room of 221B. Once there, Sherlock shut the door, and then quickly crossed the distance between himself and the doctor, sweeping the smaller man into a kiss.

             There are all sorts of kisses, and this one was quite distinct: this was a snog. A heady, passionate snog- there was no pretense of having to get the other person to want to take things further, there was no gentleness. There was primal need, the need to touch and be touched, and over all, the need for pleasure. Sherlock’s hand began to rub up John’s thigh, running along the inner seem of his trousers, and finally reaching John’s clothed length, rubbing it through the fabric. John choked back a moan, hands moving to divest the consulting detective of his jacket, and then starting work on his trousers.

             Taking is cue, Sherlock unfastened John’s trousers, pushing them down, then his pants, releasing John’s erection. Before John could form a coherent thought, Sherlock dropped to his knees, taking John’s cock in hand and placing open mouth kisses upon it. John shuddered as he gasped- Sherlock’s mouth felt almost too good. Sherlock licked from the bottom of the shaft to the tip, flicking his tongue over the tip before taking John into his mouth. In one movement, Sherlock took John’s member almost to the base, causing John to thrust into his mouth, his hands balled into fists. Though John was…generously proportioned, Sherlock could take it, swirling his tongue around John’s member as he worked it in and out of his mouth with increasing fervor.

             Sherlock took his hand and laid it atop John’s, then looked up, locking eyes with John. John could come right then and there at the sight of Sherlock sucking so eagerly and expertly on his cock. Sherlock released John from his mouth with a pop, “I want you to show me how you want it. I can take it- make me take it how you want it.”

            Sherlock resumed his practices, this time leading John’s hand to the back of his own head, leaving it there to allow John to dictate exactly how Sherlock’s mouth pleased him. John took the opportunity eagerly, fingers wrapping themselves into the detective’s curls, guided Sherlock further to take him deeper. Sherlock moaned, the vibrations adding more sensation for John. The more John took control, the more Sherlock moaned; the more Sherlock moaned, the closer John became, quivering slightly,

 “Sherlock, Sherlock, I’m gonna come…”

 John’s hand had slackened at his head, giving Sherlock the ability to remove his mouth once again:

“Then come in my mouth…sir.”

            Sir? Had Sherlock called him…fuck it, he was so close, it didn’t matter. Sherlock’s filthy mouth continued to work him and within moments John came,

 “Jesus… _fuck_ \- Sherlock!”

            Sherlock moaned affirmatively, swallowing down every drop of come. Sherlock then stood up, claiming John’s mouth with his once again: John could taste himself on Sherlock’s tongue. Sherlock’s very erect cock pressed into John, so John reached a hand down to help provide some relief. Upon contact, Sherlock groaned, “Please, may I come?”  
  
“Kinky bastard- what happens if I say no?” John continued with feather-light touches across Sherlock’s straining erection.  
  
Sherlock simply whimpered in response.  
  
“Hmmm…”  
  
“Please, John…”  
  
“N-“

“Please, sir!”  
  
John removed his hand, stepping back enough to have a full view of Sherlock, “Only if I get to watch.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, pulling out his cock, stroking himself to completion almost immediately, crying out “ _John!_ ” as his mouth forming a perfect “o,” his lips pink and swollen.

             This time, John was the one to close the gap between them to initiate the kiss. This kiss was slow, almost loving, and languid. They fell into each other, eventually landing themselves on the couch. They stayed that way for a while, messy and huddled, until John insisted they at least find a bed for the night. Sherlock once again took John’s hand, leading him to his bedroom for the night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and round two, all in one chapter.

            Waking up next to someone after your first time spending the night together is an interesting experience. First of all, you are either going to be happy it happened…or you won’t be. Second, you will wonder about the nature of the relationship. Third, you have to come up with an action plan- whether you’re going to make breakfast, or whether you’re going to grab your pants off the floor and get the hell out of there. Waking to find Sherlock still sleeping, arms wrapped around him and therefore pinning him there, John had plenty of time to lie there and think everything through:

            Immediately, John reprimanded himself for his actions. Yes, he enjoyed the evening- in fact, he thoroughly enjoyed it. Still, what John wanted from Sherlock wasn’t just sex, and John knew that going in. What had he been thinking? That one night in bed would be the catalyst to a relationship? That’s not how these things worked, and he damn well knew it. “ _Well done, Watson,”_ he thought to himself in dismay, _“you’ve managed to bollocks things up by thinking with your prick once again.”_ In the process, he managed to break the one and only true rule of friends with benefits: don’t do it if feels are involved.

             Never mind all the aforementioned points, John now seemed to recall exactly how much of a kinky bastard Sherlock had been the previous night. Not that John was complaining, but it was just a bit surprising, especially since it was their first go around. What’s more is that John enjoyed it so much, which is fine, but fantastic sex is fantastic sex, and fantastic sex is hard to regret or judge, no matter what’s involved.

             As much as John would love to pry Sherlock off of him, shower off the evidence, and go for a drink, John would never leave anyone to wake up alone after something like that. For as much as he got shit for it, John Watson was at least somewhat of a gentleman. Plus, Sherlock was his best friend, John would be damned if he’d throw this whole relationship away for something so stupid. He didn’t regret that it had happened, but he regretted what a mess of the relationship it made. So, in the end, John resolved to lay there until Sherlock awoke, unsure of what to do about his current situation.

             About a half an hour later, Sherlock began to stir, nestling closer to John. John secretly delighted in the sensation of Sherlock snuggling into him, though he knew the sentiment involved in the gesture was nonexistent in this case. If Sherlock was awake, John was free to get up and such, so he stroked Sherlock’s hair:

  
“’Morning. Want a cup of tea?”  
  
“Mmmm, coffee, please- black, two sugars.”  
  
“Right, then.”  
  
            John detangled himself from Sherlock gently, then attempted to get up, looking down at his disheveled clothes with some level of disgust. John puttered to the kitchen, making tea and coffee on auto-pilot as his mind raced a mile a minute.

             Back in the bedroom, Sherlock knew full well that something wasn’t right with John. For as oblivious as he was to social cues in day to day scenarios, a) this was his John we are talking about, and b) he was showing blatant signs in front of the most observant man in Britain- obviously Sherlock had a handle on this. Well, when I say he “had a handle” on it, essentially, that means he understands that it is present, but it does not mean, however, that he knows why or how to handle it.

             Eventually, John returned to the bedroom, setting Sherlock’s coffee on the bedside table before muttering excuses about having to go shower. John then returned to the kitchen, threw back his tea like he’d thrown back anything alcoholic in his college years, then made his way towards the shower.

             Upon hearing the sounds of the shower, Sherlock decided it was safe to recede into his mind palace for a bit. Once inside, he replayed everything over, every detail, from the idea that Irene gave him to John agreeing to John’s taste to leading him to bed. He concluded that a) John enjoyed the sex b) he didn’t completely understand why John was upset c) thinking about sex with John made him want to have sex with John.

             By the time Sherlock returned to the world around him, John had long since vacated the shower and had subsequently texted Sherlock to remind him that he’d said he was off to Tesco. Sherlock took the opportunity to shower, shave, and dress himself to what he felt was a satisfactory level- his pants the tightest possible to show off his arse, his shirt similarly tight and the top two buttons undone. He began to regret getting dressed, actually- there was no need for clothes, he decided, seeing as he wanted to have sex with John the first moment he could, and clothes would only hinder the process.

             As Sherlock meandered into the sitting room, contemplating removing his clothing, John made his way into the flat carrying the shopping. Not a word was exchanged as John put things away, but Sherlock stood at the edge of the kitchen and the second John was done, Sherlock grasped his attention by saying, in the same voice of sex that affected John so, “Fuck me.”

“What?” John turned to face him, obviously convinced that Sherlock had not said what he thought he said.

 “Fuck me. Right now.”

  
“Wait, Sherlock, seriously? Now?” John looked torn, his cock obviously doing most of the talking at this point- just hearing that phrase come from Sherlock had put John’s libido into overdrive.

 “Please, John…” Sherlock walked over to John, helping remove his jacket and then lowering his head to begin to suck on that spot on John’s neck that he somehow knew would make him…

“Oh, God, yes!” John moaned, giving into Sherlock entirely, all thoughts of regret from this morning long forgotten.  

            Sherlock recognized his ministrations were working, so he took the liberty of helping remove John’s shirt as they began to kiss, moving backward towards Sherlock’s bedroom. Once there, Sherlock laid John upon the bed, kissing him with a more passion that what some people make love with. They remained like that for a moment before Sherlock broke away, next nipping and kissing a trail down John’s neck, causing a primal growl to bubble up from within John’s chest. Next, Sherlock moved lower, placing his mouth on John’s nipple, swirling his tongue around it before biting just hard enough to make John’s back arch up in pleasure. From that position, Sherlock looked up, meeting John’s eyes before releasing his mouth,  
  
“Fuck me.”

Sherlock returned his attention to John’s chest, this time switching to the other side before doing the exact same thing as he had before, this time drawing it out before looking up,  
  
“Fuck my mouth.”

John growled and bucked his hips- if Sherlock wanted this to last any length of time, they needed to get on with it before Sherlock’s dirty mouth unraveled John completely. At John’s obvious arousal, Sherlock smirked before moving down to unzip and unfasten John’s trousers before puling them down just enough. He then lowered his mouth again, this time planting a wet kiss on John’s cock through the strained fabric. John groaned, he could come just from that. Sherlock licked a stripe up the outline of John’s erection before looking up at John once more,  
  
“Fuck me anyway you like.”

             John could hardly be held accountable for his actions at this point- the phrase “ridiculously turned on” didn’t even begin to cover how he felt in that moment. Sherlock moved up to claim John’s lips again, his hand still attending to John’s crotch, making John rock into him. John’s hands scrambled to remove Sherlock’s shirt, kicking off his own trousers as he went. Sherlock smirked upon John’s lips at his eagerness. John then moved to remove Sherlock’s slacks, making Sherlock squirm. In response, John smacked Sherlock slightly on the arse, hoping it would make him hold still long enough to get naked: instead, it made Sherlock break the kiss, moaning fully and arching his back in pleasure.

 “You fucking like that, do you?” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s arse with both hands.

  
“Yes- _oh God_. Yes, sir!” Sherlock gasped.  
  
“Kinky bastard,” John growled as he administered a harder slap where the first had landed, watching as Sherlock reveled in the combination of pleasure and pain.

             Once Sherlock seemed to recover from the blow, he helped removed his trousers and his pants, then making sure John was similarly naked. He then straddled John, lining up their hips, gliding their cocks together. Both men moaned loudly, moving their hips to make it happen again and again and _oh, GOD_ again. John moved his hands back to Sherlock’s arse, squeezing the sensitive flesh before smacking him again, loving how it seemed to make Sherlock come undone atop him. Sherlock’s hand reached down and took both of their lengths in hand, pumping to the pace of the thrusts of their hips. John rewarded him for his actions with a continuation of his paddling. The sight of Sherlock utterly fucked out brought John to the edge, much like the combination of sensations did to Sherlock: 

  
“Fuck, Sherlock, I’m close…”  
  
“Can I come, too, please, sir?”  
  
“Yes, _YES!_ ” Their actions became frantic, each chasing release.  It didn’t take much longer for Sherlock to come, and seconds past after that before John followed suit, spattering Sherlock’s hand and his chest with come.

             Sherlock collapsed onto the bed beside John, reaching into his bedside for tissues to clean up. Once that was accomplished, Sherlock turned to see John laying there, looking at him with a look of almost adoration. Seeing that his gaze had been caught, however, John ceased eye contact, looking anywhere else.

 “I’m glad we decided to do this,” Sherlock said, taking his chances. 

  
John turned back to face him, pursing his lips before smiling, “I’m glad, too.”  
  
            John then got up, dressed, and went to his room “to read for a bit.” A “bit” turned out to be the rest of the day and into the night, only coming downstairs for meals, leaving Sherlock to his own devices to do whatever to entertain himself he could in John’s haunting absence. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to terms with everything, paying a visit to Ms. Adler, and some fun in bed

            The next morning, John awoke to find the flat (surprisingly) quiet. Instead of over thinking it, John instead to enjoy the peace, assuming Sherlock was probably sleeping or out or something- why should he care? Well, anyways, as part of enjoying the peace, John elected to go have a long shower. Making sure the water was neigh on scolding, John jumped in, allowing himself to just enjoy the feeling for a bit. As a military man, this was a luxury rarely afforded, yet soon enough John vowed to not repeat the experience- something about the shower allowed his mind to wonder. And wonder. And wonder to Sherlock. And wonder to what the hell he was doing with Sherlock…

 

            Oh. God. He’d spanked Sherlock. That was quiet the moment of realization, to one moment remember and fully appreciate that he had spanked the great Sherlock Holmes- and, there’s not really a better way to put this, it had made Sherlock moan like a little slut. But still, spanking isn’t the best thing to just spring up on someone! You get to know the person’s tastes, maybe even ask first, you don’t just go slap happy on their arse right out of the gate! But it wasn’t like Sherlock had complained-

 

            That was the thing, the “kinky bastard” issue: Sherlock seemed to be into some rougher, kinker things.

There was the “sir,” thing, which John most definitely did not mind at all  
There was the “permission to come” bit that he find a bit weird, but he could be open minded about it, especially given he seemed to get into it in the moment.

There was the spanking, which was a non-issue, if he were to be completely honest.

There was the “eager to be a cock whore” bit that John was into, no question about it.

So what was John so worried about? He was, in the end, all for all of the things Sherlock seemed to offer.

 

     He didn’t have a good answer. However, in his reminiscences, he recalled over using the phrase “kinky bastard,” something he really had to amend forthwith. So- if he didn’t have a good reason to be panicked and worried, why be panicked and worried? He should just enjoy what he had been gifted with: one Sherlock Holmes, eager to share his bed. Damn these mini crises, even if John couldn’t have Sherlock’s love in a relationship sense, he sure as hell could have it in a physical sense, and there was nothing wrong with that. John, with his self-esteem returned to the level of a man getting laid regularly, actually showered, and then exited the bathroom with what could only be described as a “swagger.”

 

      Meanwhile, in Belgravia, Sherlock and Irene shared tense conversation in the sitting room that Ms. Adler’s career allowed her to afford. Sherlock didn’t quite know why he thought he needed to see her, but he went anyways: he arrived at her residence to “try to retrieve the phone.” He failed miserably, and they both know it was because he wasn’t even close to trying. Now, with that formality behind them, she insisted he stay for a cup of tea, lightening things up with a casual observation:

  
“Dear Lord, no wonder you were unsuccessful, you can barely move for the state of your knees! Doctor Watson must have had a lovely time…”  
  
“That’s hardly an accurate assessment, my knees are fine...”  
  
“Fine, given what they’ve been through, sure. You’re hardly young enough to go about bashing them up like that without consequence. Wait until you try to go about going about like nothing’s happened after you first try a whip or crop! You’ll have to learn to use salve, surely!” Irene smiled cockily throughout her speech, delighting that Sherlock wasn’t even denying her comment about his knees or John’s involvement.  
  
“And what makes you think I have any desire to include either of those at all?” Sherlock said, spitting out the last words as if he really wasn’t curious as to Irene’s input.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, Mr. Holmes. You like things to be interesting, and I have sparked your imagination as to how to make things just so. The combination of those two things means you will, undoubtedly, will experiment at very least.”  
  
Sherlock huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes, making Irene’s smile grow wider.  
  
“If you’re quite finished, I believe we’re done here,” Sherlock said, rising to take his leave.

“Now, just be sure to be safe, remember: make it safe, sane, and consensual.” Irene mocked, moving to show Sherlock out, cockiness almost flowing from her at this point. Sherlock took his out, leaving through the door opened for him. As he left, back facing her, Sherlock added, “Good day, Ms. Adler.” before finally sweeping out of the house.

 

            Once back on the main road, Sherlock hailed a cab. Once inside, he withdrew his phone, new inspiration occupying his mind after his visit with “the Woman.” Somehow, she had almost become his muse:  
  
 **I want you to tie me up, then fuck me: hard. –SH**

            John received the message, and, still teeming with the confidence he had after his shower, replied:  
  
 **Then get up here, I’ll be sure not to disappoint.**

Sherlock smiled, he really was fond of this “shagging John whenever he felt like it” idea.

**I’m on my way: 10 minutes out. –SH**   


            Approximately ten minutes later, Sherlock bounded up the stairs of 221B, excited, a bit anxious, and aroused. He was met by an empty sitting room, but the sounds of John stirring upstairs. Sherlock took his coat off, hanging it nearby as he heard the sound of John’s weighted steps come down the stairs. Sherlock didn’t turn around, letting the anticipation heighten the experience. From behind him came John’s gruff voice, “Do you really want me to tie you up, or can I just fuck you?”

“I want your cock inside me, the sooner the better.” replied Sherlock, turning to face John just in time to see John’s eyes darken with lust.  John licked his lips, fighting the urge to bend Sherlock over the couch and have him right then, right there. Instead, composure barely intact, John ordered, “Upstairs, my room, now.”  
  
            Sherlock had to admit, he liked John ordering him about. With a smirk, he began to unbutton his shirt as he walked, feeling John’s eye on him. John followed shortly, disrobing with less of a show, and by the time they got to John’s room, they were both almost down to their pants. John shut the door, throwing off his shirt, and continued to watch as Sherlock climbed onto John’s bed, then pulled his pants off to the side enough to withdraw his quickly-hardening cock. John couldn’t watch any longer, crossing to the bed and pressing Sherlock down upon the bed with a kiss.

 

            John’s hand moved to stroke Sherlock’s exposed length, knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive Sherlock mad.

 

“Please, _please,_ John…”

 

“What, no more ‘sir?’ I was beginning to like it…”

 

“ _Please, sir!_ I want you inside me, _fuck me.”_

 

How was John supposed to say no when Sherlock had asked so nicely? Easily.

     Instead of listening to Sherlock’s pleas, John elected to lower himself to where he could take all of Sherlock in his mouth. Sherlock was obviously not usually on the receiving end of such pleasures, barely able to contain himself at the sensation. Careful not to gag himself, John allowed Sherlock to rock his hips as to fuck John’s mouth. Sherlock moaned and groaned, breathing in gasps.

“Close, ‘m close, sir…” Sherlock struggled with the words, his mind too far gone for language- other than moans, “please,” and “John.”

 

     John simply hummed his response, letting Sherlock do as he pleased, purposing to let Sherlock come from just this. It really didn’t take long, Sherlock was ṻber-sensitive. John lapped at the underside of the shaft as it moved through his lips, pace rapidly quickening as Sherlock started to come, “ _Oh, GOD, John!_ ” John didn’t even so much as blench, swallowing everything Sherlock offered.

 

     John gave Sherlock a moment to collect himself before John kissed his way back up to Sherlock’s mouth. John tangled his fingers in the detective’s curls, pressing his still-clothed erection onto Sherlock, hinting as to what was to come. Sherlock broke the kiss first, “I thought I told you,” he growled seductively, “I wanted you to fuck me?”

 

“And I thought you understood you’re not in charge here.” John retorted before bucking his hips, making Sherlock whimper. John continued, “Now, you can have my cock inside that pretty little mouth of yours because you’ve been so good.”

 

            Sherlock nodded, the pair moving into position: John removing his pants and standing beside the bed, Sherlock lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows so that John’s hard length was at his lips. Sherlock opened his mouth expectantly and John thrust inside, hitting the back of Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock didn’t gag, nor did he try to prevent it happening again. John’s fingers weaved their way back into Sherlock’s hair, using that grip to help him thrust deeper into Sherlock’s mouth. John watched, cautious that he never go too far, looking for any sign that Sherlock needed to stop, but it never came. Instead, Sherlock took everything John gave him until his eyes watered. Seeing Sherlock mouth around his prick was one thing, but seeing him take almost the whole thing was quite another- the sight alone almost brought John off. In the end, it almost did. It took less than five minutes and John was coming down Sherlock’s throat, “Oh, _GOD, Sherlock!_ ”

 

            John and Sherlock both slumped onto the bed, just barely spooning. There they remained for a few moments, catching their breath and gaining back all the cognitive abilities they seemed to have lost in the act. Eventually, John spoke:

  
“Was it, ah, good for you?”

“Hmmmm…what? Oh, oh, yes. I would have told you if it wasn’t.”

“Oh, right then. That’s good…”  
  
“And you?”

“What?”  
  
“Was it satisfactory for you?”  
  
“Oh, God, yeah. Yes, definitely.”

 

     With that, Sherlock rolled to face John, plated a chaste kiss on John’s lips before rolling off the bed in the search of his clothes. Before he headed downstairs, he leaned against the door frame, looked at John and winked. The men smiled at each other before Sherlock bounded down the stairs, no doubt in a hurry to clean up before starting some sort of experiment or whatnot. John really didn’t care, for as in that second, he was perfectly happy. Well, almost…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to some plot, I promise. I've been a bit busy, so just smut has been much easier to write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's throw some light bondage in...

          With John’s newfound relaxed attitude toward the situation and Sherlock’s lack of shyness when it came to asking for sex, the pair shagged like rabbits for the next week. Now, mind you, they never went any further, sticking to what their hands and mouths could provide, but that was plenty. What did progress, however, was the blatancy of Sherlock’s want to submit during sex. He called John “sir,” without fail. To be perfectly crass yet honest, the, ah, harder Sherlock got, the softer his demeanor became. John was fine with it, of course, it was all fine. Actually, if he thought about it, he liked it a bit- quite a bit.

 

            They were still in their super-shagging stage one evening as John attempted to clean the flat. Sherlock was in his chair, in his Mind Palace for some reason on another, probably a case, so John took the opportunity to tidy the place up a bit (they’d been very… messy this past week.) John started in the kitchen, throwing away “experiments,” and putting away the left over knick knacks into their proper places within drawers and such. He was in the process of tossing a half-burnt candle into a drawer when a glint of silver from within the drawer caught his eyes- there in the drawer lie three pair of police issue handcuffs, and the keys to match. A smirk played upon John’s lips as the naughty, naughty part of his mind kicked into gear- it was time to play, he decided.

 

            Taking two of the pairs of the handcuffs and pocketing the keys, John walked over to Sherlock, who was still deep in his MindPalace. The beauty of Sherlock’s favorite chair was that it had exposed metal bars along the frame, and John knew exactly what to do with them. John placed one of his hands the side of Sherlock’s face, thumb stroking, “Sherlock.” There was a grunt in response, but Sherlock didn’t leave his trace. John took one of the pairs of handcuffs and snapped one side onto one of metal bars of the armrest and, taking Sherlock’s hand, affixed the other end to Sherlock’s wrist in one fluid movement.

 

            Immediately, Sherlock struggled against the restraint. It was incredibly stupid of John to surprise Sherlock like that, but at least part of Sherlock recognized him, minimizing the danger- thankfully.

 

“Don’t do that, love, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  
            At the sound of John’s voice, Sherlock relaxed. He looked up at John expectantly, pupils dilating in arousal. John resumed stroking Sherlock’s cheek, and Sherlock leaned into the touch.

 

“What’s your safe word?” John asked, and Sherlock understood immediately, “Colles.”   
Colles, as in a Colles fracture- a broken wrist. John chuckled softly before taking Sherlock’s other hand and the other pair of handcuffs to affix Sherlock’s other wrist identically to the first. He then unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers-“Lift,” pulling down Sherlock’s pants and trousers down to his ankles.  

 

            With Sherlock sufficiently exposed and restrained, John straddled his lap, pulling him into a kiss. John’s hands shamelessly caressed Sherlock’s upper thigh, his lower abdomen, and occasionally he ghosted his fingers playfully over Sherlock’s prick as it hardened. Once Sherlock was moaning against John’s lips, rocking, and attempting to gain some sort of friction against his now-fully erect cock, John slid from Sherlock’s lap and dropped to his knees in front of the chair.

 

            John moved to put his lips where his hands had been, first licking and nipping his way up the inside of Sherlock’s thighs. He took Sherlock in hand, stroking lazily:   
  
“Beg.”   
  
“Please, sir! Please put your mouth on me!”

            The smirk returned to John’s lips: Sherlock, one of the world’s most eloquent men, turned into a blathering slut at John’s touch, and that amused John to no end. John proceeded to lick from the base of Sherlock’s cock straight up to the tip, and then wrapped his mouth around it, suckling gently- Sherlock whimpered in pleasure. After years of being denied carnal pleasures, Sherlock’s body was delightfully sensitive, even after a week of having that sensitivity exploited.

            John’s mouth worked to provide Sherlock with just enough pleasure to produce wanton mewls, but not nearly enough to get him off- not yet, anyway. It was a delightful torture, and John was definitely one to be so cruel. After a few minutes of merely sampling Sherlock, John, without warning, took Sherlock’s hardness into his mouth as far as he could, his tongue lapping against the underside of his length. John’s hand found its way to work the base of Sherlock’s prick in time to John’s oral ministrations, the combination of the sensations leading Sherlock dangerously close to orgasm.

“Sir, _sir_ , I-I’m going to…I’m going to…”

            John didn’t stop; he simply hummed his acknowledgement, quickening his pace. Less than a minute later, Sherlock was coming in John’s mouth, yelping John’s name. John sucked gently until Sherlock was finished, before standing grabbing a handful of Sherlock’s hair, using it to make Sherlock look up at him. John ran his thumb along Sherlock’s bottom lip, “You’ve gotten yours, now give me mine,” he rasped.

      John took the handcuff keys from his pocket, removing one pair of handcuffs entirely. He unlocked the side of the other pair that was attached to the chair, and then took the now-free side and affixed it to Sherlock’s other wrist behind his back. John then took Sherlock by the hair again, pulling him out of the chair and onto his knees. John marveled at Sherlock for a moment, he’s be damned if Sherlock didn’t look fucking gorgeous handcuffed and waiting on his knees.

            John unfastened his own trousers, pulling them down with his pants, revealing the erection he had been so patient about dealing with. John took himself in hand and guided himself to Sherlock’s lips: Sherlock opened his mouth expectantly, almost excitedly, ready to please John however he could. With one hand guiding his cock and the other on the back of Sherlock’s head, John serviced himself using Sherlock’s mouth, while Sherlock used his tongue to help. It never ceased to amaze John at how Sherlock seemed to be made for this, made for having a cock in his mouth- he never gagged and seemed to love every moment of it, sucking happily. John increased the pace, nearing his own peak. Soon enough, John groaned Sherlock’s name as he buried his cock as deep as his could into Sherlock’s mouth, coming down his throat.

            Quick enough that Sherlock didn’t choke, John withdrew. John got down on his knees next to Sherlock, panting along side him before finally remembering to unlock the handcuffs. After a moment, John broke the silence.   
  
“Did you like that?”

“Mmm, most decidedly.”   
  
“So, you’re in to that sort of thing?”  
  
“John, must you ask such stupid questions? Of course I am, haven’t I shown you that?”

“Well, kind of, but I wanted to make sure. So you’d like to do more stuff like that?”

“If you’d be agreeable, yes.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, we’ll have to talk about how far and all that, but yeah, it could be fun.”

There was a twinkle in Sherlock’s eyes as he looked at John and smiled, “We’ll start with the riding crop."


	6. Chapter 6

_“We’ll start with the riding crop.”_

     The words rang in John’s ears like a shot had been fired. In his head, the phrase “Well, that escalated quickly,” immerged as his first coherent thought.  He’d agreed, sure, and he meant it- but still, John took a minute to fully appreciate how kinky things got in a very short amount of time. Not that he was complaining, mind you, he’d just not ever given a lot of thought of exactly how… dominate? Yes, dominate- he wanted to be in bed. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. They’d figure it all out as they went.

     In the end, John didn’t really have to worry about it, seeing as Sherlock was as forward-thinking as ever. The next day, when John walked into the kitchen to make tea first thing in the morning, Sherlock was perched on the sofa with his laptop. The moment John entered the room, Sherlock looked up:  
  
“Ah, John, you’re up. I require you for the rest of this.”  
  
“The rest of what?”

“This- it’s a small inventory I’ve put together so that we can better understand where we stand. I’ve been informed one can’t enter into a BDSM relationship without properly discussing the wants and needs of their partner or partners, but ‘discussing’ is boring, so I put this together instead.”

“Oh. Well then.” John stepped forward to read the computer screen. There are some things that are best talked about after the morning hours, and this was one of them. It was John’s new found belief that sexual preferences are not something to be explored and expounded upon before ten in the morning. John’s belief was only reinforced when he read the title of the document Sherlock was talking about: _“The Kink Inventory.”_

            Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was really going to have to do this. John took the laptop from Sherlock and began to scroll through the list- the damn thing was seven pages long! Never mind the length, John wasn’t one-hundred percent sure he knew what all of the “kinks” even were.

 

“Now,” Sherlock began, “here’s what you do: my answers are in blue, yours will be in red. If it’s a ‘favorite’ of yours, highlight it, if it’s a ‘yes,’ you’d like to do it, underline it, if it’s a ‘maybe,’ add an asterisk to the beginning of the entry, and if it’s a ‘no,’  put it in bold. Is that clear?”

 

            John nodded dumbly and relocated to his chair, where he could be uncomfortable with the situation in a seated position. He decided to start by reading Sherlock’s answers, which may or may not have been a mistake: Sherlock was up for most anything. Barring water sports, incest, scat, death, prehensile cocks, piercings, and vore/cannibalism, Sherlock seemed ready to try just about anything. That was nice, if not a bit…much.  Sherlock’s favorites, however, were an interesting read. There was a connection between most of his favorites, and that connection was having dominance exercised over him. From that, John made the deduction that Sherlock Holmes liked to be submissive.  Given that that information was pretty blatant beforehand and briefly discussed, it wasn’t like this was a hard deduction or a surprise, but still, it was nice to have it in writing. In all honesty, John was warming up to the idea of the inventory- now he had a guide to how to please Sherlock, as well as a guide to what Sherlock would be up for, and what was a no-no.

 

            The only problem now was the fact that John now had to reciprocate by providing his answers. He was a bit shy about the whole thing, but he figured it’d be best to be completely honest. Thus he began, his “no” list growing much bigger than Sherlock’s in minutes. It was an interesting experience; John had never had to seriously question if he was into these things. He also didn’t have to ask questions like:  
  
“What the hell is hotdogging?”

“What the buggering fuck is docking?”

“Babyfur? As in lanugo on newborns? What?”

 

            Sherlock answered all of John’s questions with a clinical air, which was someone calming in that scenario. That didn’t stop John from, after diligently working on answering for a few minutes, adding his commentary off to the side of some of the entries:

“’Strap-ons’ _Not so much. I don’t really like the idea of brandishing a fake cock._ ”

 

“’3+ Penetration’ _Once you have to start thinking of inventive ways to fit things, I'm generally out._ ”

 

“’Male Pregnancy’ _Not my division._ ”

 

“’Incest’ _One word: Mycroft._ ”

 

            John liked adding his little funny comments; it made it feel less like this was an exam he didn’t study for. He marked all his answers as he as told to, too, but the comments lessened the awkwardness. In the end, it took John about an hour and a half to complete the inventory, checking over his answers versus Sherlock’s before he handed the computer over to its owner. From the correlations within the inventory results, it seemed Sherlock and John could have a lovely time exploring their kinks; generally, their answers complimented each others.

 

            John got up and made tea and breakfast, showered and dressed, giving Sherlock time to read and process John’s answers. Occasionally, Sherlock would chuckle, presumably (hopefully,) at John’s little comments. Once done, Sherlock bellowed for John, and once the two were seated opposite each other in their respective favorite chairs, Sherlock began:

“Using your answers, which were sufficiently amusing where intended, by the way, I have been able to sufficiently conclude that we would both be amenable to being in a similarly casual sexual relationship to what we have now, with the addition of certain aspects: namely, domination and submission.”

“I agree with that statement, and I would go far enough to say I’d to accept any proposal you make to have that kind of thing between us.”

“In that case, consider it done. Now, as far as arrangements go…”  
  
“No, hold on- I want to hear you ask for it.”  
  
“What?”

“I want you to ask me to be your dom.”

Sherlock caught on quickly, his face alight with the realization of what John wanted. Sherlock dropped to his knees, crawled to close the distance between them, then sat back on his heels before looking up at John and asking, “Please, sir, will you be my dom?”  
  
“Oh, God, yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there was no actual smut in this chapter, so my apologies to those who were looking forward to it. I felt the need to express that BDSM relationships require a certain amount of communication; you have to make sure it's "sane, safe, and consensual," so you do have to talk it out. However, this is Sherlock we're talking about, so I decided to do this in a more...comical, quirky way. 
> 
> Thank you all for all the support, I really do love you guys and gals! Your comments, kudos, hits, bookmarks, and subscriptions make my day! 
> 
> XXX,  
> MoftissslilWriter


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start with the riding crop...

            Sherlock, on his knees, willing as you can be, right there in front of him: John Watson was in heaven. Sherlock nuzzled John’s leg affectionately, smiling at the turn of events. John, in turn, stroked Sherlock’s hair before guiding Sherlock up to his lips, kissing him in earnest. If there was doubt by either partner about his ability to make the other happy, that kiss, loving and giddily needy, soothed those thoughts like a balm. They just kissed, contented that the promise of whatever activities was enough for the time being…for a while. Things escalated, but then was not the time to “play,” instead they were equals, equally working to pleasure their partner, for mutual satisfaction- which was achieved, of course. Afterwards, they set themselves to rights, and then went about the day.

 

            Through the course of the aforementioned day, John found himself planning some fun for later that night. Naturally, they’d start with the riding crop- the only problem there was the fact that John hadn’t the faintest idea as to where the crop was. For as well-adjusted as he was to the abnormal things that life with Sherlock brought, John cringed slightly at the idea of having to hear himself say the phrase, “Honey, where’s the riding crop?” No, he wasn’t ready to have those words in that order come out of his mouth.  He’d probably have to procure one just for their “personal use,” actually. While he was thinking about it, if he was going to have to go to a shop that would sell such an item, he might as well give a little forethought into what else they might need and enjoy.

 

            That, as it happened, was an interesting question. Not because it was a difficult question, he had the bloody inventory to guide him, but because of the sheer amount of choices. For as difficult and picky Sherlock was in day-to-day life, Sherlock was so very… un-Sherlock when it came to sex and play that John was almost lost as to how to deal with it. For as much as he enjoyed it, John admitted it was a bit difficult at times to adjust to being in charge- though he was sure he’d be able to overcome that challenge.

 

            In the end, he decided he’d just “pop to the shop” and just look around, see if anything stuck his fancy. Reclaiming his laptop, John googled the nearest (most discrete- he still had a modicum of dignity) shop before jotting down the address, making his excuses to Sherlock, and heading in that general direction. It really wasn’t a far walk, maybe thirty minutes, and he was there, ducking inside the “ _Harmony.”_ He perused the aisles, finding some (okay, he’ll level with you: most) of the equipment a bit intimidating. Anything that looked like it was used for punishment looked really, really, very, very, terribly, terribly painful. He was clearly not enough of a sadist, or a masochist, for him to purchase these items- but it was on Sherlock’s list. However, looking at the bondage (a “favorite” of Sherlock’s) was far less menacing- in fact, a good bit of it looked fun.

 

            In the end, John picked out two things: a classic riding crop and a roll of “bondage tape.” As a man with a general appreciation for modesty, checking out was an uncomfortable experience- but it was worth it, John was sure of that. With his items placed in a large, plain white bag, John walked home, texting Sherlock as he walked:

  
**Any plans for tonight?**

The response was almost instantaneous:

**Nothing I can’t heartlessly abandon. –SH**

**How about dinner? Chinese take away?**

**Yes, I can agree to that…sir. – SH**

            John smirked at his phone. It didn’t matter that Sherlock knew what the plan was, there was actually little point in trying to surprise him, because John was sure it would be no less fun- in fact, the anticipation would be wonderful. So, with that familiar swagger, John walked home.

 

o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

            There was a knock on the door to Mycroft’s office. Because of the secure nature of his work space, Mycroft knew it must be Anthea, “Come in.” Anthea approached her boss, her precious Blackberry in her clutch. Her face bounced between amusement and professional decorum:  
  
“Sir, when you said to alert you if either resident of 221B purchased anything ‘of note’ to tell you. Sir, what would you consider ‘of note?’”

 

Mycroft looked at her warily, though knowing Anthea, this was bound to be good. He motioned for Anthea to hand over her phone, the obvious source of her question. On the screen were the details of a cash transaction at a sex shop, items purchased including a riding crop and bondage tape. Dear Lord. Looking up back at his assistant, he saw that she was fighting a bad case of the giggles. Mycroft smiled, he must admit it was rather amusing. Handing back Anthea’s phone, he drew his own from his pocket, pecking out a short message to Doctor Watson before returning to work:  
  
 **You are no doubt already aware Sherlock already owns a riding crop: two seems excessive.- MH**

o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

            Not even an excessively creepy message from Mycroft could faze John at this point. He entered the flat, placing his items on the table as he made himself a cuppa before heading up to his room for a bit. Sherlock was perched in the living room the whole time, giving him plenty of time to see the bag on the table and guess its contents- and thus the anticipation builds. John knew exactly what he was doing, and by God if he wasn’t good at playing this game.

 

            Around seven o’clock, John and Sherlock ordered take away, having it delivered. To an outsider, this was a very domestic, almost sweet, night in. To Sherlock, it was an unnecessary process that was irritating because it made him wait. To John, it was fun, simply because he got to see Sherlock silently fight his impatience. They tucked in, then John flipped on _Doctor Who_ , watching Sherlock’s look of dismay at the idea that he’d somehow misinterpreted the evening’s itinerary. That dismay turned into excited curiosity when John motioned for Sherlock to come snuggle in beside him on the couch. This was John’s way of saying, “Let’s snog like teenagers on the couch for a bit.” And that they did until the Doctor’s final “Geronimo!” Then, with both parties sufficiently turned on, lips swollen and hair tousled, John broke away, looking straight into Sherlock’s eyes as he issued the order:  
  
“Go to your room, get naked, and bend over the bed and wait- now.”

 

            Sherlock nodded, making quick work of his instructions. John then took his time going up to his room to retrieve the crop from the misleading white bag. John’s detour gave Sherlock plenty of time to do as he was told, plus there was a moment or two to spare. John came into the room, took off his jumper, and rolled up his sleeves. He then took one hand and gently stroked the expanse of Sherlock’s back, fingers ghosting over his spine. Simultaneously, John’s other hand guided the riding crop to tease the inside of Sherlock’s thigh. Every inch of Sherlock’s skin was thrumming with energy, yet he willed himself to not move unless instructed.

 

“What’s your safe word, love?”

 

“Mycroft.”  
  
“Good boy.” John patted Sherlock’s bum before continuing, “Now, here’s what happens next: I’m going to smack your arse and leave pretty little welts, and you’re going to count each one. If you screw up your one job, we start from one again. We will do ten. Understood?”

 

     Sherlock nodded slowly, his head dropping below his shoulders in front of him. John, betraying none of his hesitance or nervousness, brought the crop down on Sherlock’s arse just hard enough for it to smart.

 

“One,” Sherlock moaned. He seemed to like the pain, the little slut. This encouraged John to deliver three more blows in quick succession to the same spot, “TWO, three, f-four,” Sherlock managed.

 

     John smirked, loving how Sherlock tried so hard to remain still, yet he wiggled so under the touch of the crop. Teasing, John ran the head of the crop over Sherlock’s now pink bum.

 

“You’re being so good,” John said, his voice low with arousal.

 

            Without warning, John then delivered a sharp swat to the very center of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock’s back arched as he yelped, “FIVE!” Sherlock panted as if he’d just run around half of London, his eyes wide and pupils dilated with arousal. Beneath him, his length throbbed, twitching in interest with every touch.

 

            Five hits- that’s all it took for both men to be too far gone in their arousal. John dropped the riding crop, unbuttoned his shirt and casting it aside, “Turn over, get on the bed.” Sherlock scrambled to the center of the bed as John removed his trousers and pants before joining him. John straddled Sherlock’s hips, and then pulled the detective into a demanding kiss. Sherlock’s hands went immediately to grasp his own erection, then John’s, stroking them in tandem. John’s hips snapped to meet Sherlock’s hand, groaning low and demanding against his lips. Sherlock broke the kiss,  
  
“I want you inside me…”

 

“One thing at a time, yeah? But trust me, I’ll fuck your pert little arse soon enough.”

 

            With that, John used one hand to pinch Sherlock’s nipple, his other going to his mouth, outlining the man’s cupid’s bow, “Suck,” he instructed, pushing his finger into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock sucked it eagerly, swirling his tongue, getting it as wet as possible. John then surprised Sherlock by switching their position so that Sherlock was now the one on top of John.

 

            They readjusted to their new position, now going back to exactly how they were until John removed his finger from Sherlock’s mouth with a pop. John reached behind Sherlock, running the spit-slicked finger up the cleft of his arse, then in, in, in, slowly. Ideally, actual lubricant would be preferable, as it would ease the slight discomfort on Sherlock’s part, but John made up for it immediately, curling his finger and finding “that spot”- never in Sherlock’s life had he been happier that John was a doctor than he was in that moment as John’s skilled finger stroked his sweet spot just so. The pace of Sherlock’s hands increased, fervor increasing as their climax approached. A few moments were all it took until Sherlock was coming, ropes of white covering his hands. Seeing Sherlock in his ecstasy was just enough to send John over the edge, throwing his head back as he moaned Sherlock’s name.

 

            John withdrew his finger, getting up to wash his hands and retrieve a flannel to clean them both up. When he returned to the room, Sherlock was already asleep, but John felt an obligation to make sure he was cleaned up at least. He set about wiping him up, and then he drew the blankets over the sleeping man before leaving to his own room for the night.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note because I'm proud of my accuracy- there is a sex shop called "Harmony" about a half an hour's walk from 221B ("I'm a writer," I whisper as I google all the sex shops in London...)
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback, I really enjoy it! If you have any requests or ideas, feel free to share those in the comments, as well!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round One with the bondage tape-

 

            It’s amazing what sorts of activates become difficult when one has a sore bum. First and foremost, sitting is a bit of an issue. Though John had been very good about making sure salve was properly administered, Sherlock admitted he was in a tiny bit of pain. The discomfort itself was not really an issue- however, the arousal caused by the reminder of the night previous was. Sherlock was supposed to be working on a series of experiments exploring the effects of bases on ear cartilage, but he could barely focus long enough to prepare the slides.

 

            John, for his part, felt bad to have left such a mark…but he also felt not-bad. In fact, you could go as far as to say it felt good. Every small wince he witnessed was met with a mixture of guilt and shame mixed with arousal and pride. What was worse, he felt the need to “play” again. He got through the majority of the day before it got to the point that he brought his “need” up to Sherlock. As Sherlock continued under the delusion that he would finish his experiment within the evening, John sat opposite him at the kitchen table.   
  
“So…was last night good enough for you to want to go again?”

 

“Obviously- though you can’t be as blind as to not have figured that out by now. No, you’re asking because you mean do I want to “go again” soon. The answer, of course, is yes.”

 

John smiled, “Smug bastard, yes, that’s what I meant. The next question is how…soon you’d be willing to…”

 

“If you’d be amenable, I’d be willing to receive my punishment for being a ‘smug  bastard’ right now.”

 

“Oh, God, yes.”   
  
“Surely I will never tire of that little catchphrase of yours…”

 

“You’re already in for it, don’t make it harder on yourself.”   
  
“Oh, but maybe I want it ‘harder.’”

 

“I bet you do…”

 

            With that, John circled around behind Sherlock, taking Sherlock’s face in hand, turning it to the side so he could growl into Sherlock’s ear, “Then go to your room and strip, you know the drill.”

 

            Sherlock gave a little nod and strode towards his room. John went up to his room, retrieving the bondage tape, and then made his way to Sherlock’s bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the beauty that was Sherlock, naked and subservient.

 

            Walking toward Sherlock with deliberate steps, he came up behind him and stroked the detective’s still pink posterior, “I think we’ll be nice to your posh little tush tonight… but don’t think for one second that you’re off the hook.”  
  
            With that, John took the bondage tape in one hand, pulling Sherlock’s hands in front of him with the other. He taped Sherlock’s wrists together securely- and then he decided he liked how that looked; Sherlock’s fiddly little hands were undeniably beautiful subdued. He took it one step further, binding him at the elbows, as well. Sherlock bit his lip, loving the sensation of being bound, wanting John to go further. Taking Sherlock’s subtle hint, John obliged, lightly encircling his upper arms.

 

“Down on the bed, on your back.”

 

            Sherlock sat down on the obediently on the bed, swag his legs up and reclined.

 

“Spread ‘em.”

 

            John followed one of Sherlock legs, pulling it towards the baseboard, having Sherlock scoot down so that his foot would reach. Once again, John grabbed the tape, this time forming a sort of figure eight, one end wrapping around Sherlock’s ankle, the other end around one of the bars of the baseboard. He did the same to the other leg, this time watching Sherlock’s reaction as much as possible; watching has his tongue dart out to wet his lips, looking into his eyes with pupils blown from arousal. God, he looked lovely, arms taped in front of him, legs splayed and tethered, cock standing at attention- John could just eat him up…

 

            Throwing the tape to one side, John navigated his way onto the bed atop Sherlock, running his hands over Sherlock’s naked body, teasing. He managed to fit his legs in between Sherlock, kneeling there and turning his attentions to Sherlock’s prick. Since his arms weren’t attached to the bed frame, Sherlock was free to arch into John’s touch just enough to make a show of it. John alternated sensations, feather-light touches intermingled with rough jerks and swirls, doing so with enough randomness that Sherlock couldn’t even guess as to what would come next. Something about being so bent to John’s will was unbelievable arousing, bringing him unbelievably close to the edge. Sensing this, John stopped his ministrations completely, waited for neigh on a minute, then grasped Sherlock’s cock, pumping it with firm pressure. He did not let Sherlock chase his orgasm; instead, he made the man let enough time do the trick. Sherlock moaned wantonly, his thighs quaking as his release overtook him.       

 

            At this point, John had yet to disrobe, so he removed himself from the bed, cleaned off his hand, and then took off all of his clothing incredibly quickly. He straddled Sherlock’s chest, making Sherlock attempt to sit up, bringing the smaller man’s mouth to his own. John kissed him, his need and passion evident in the way his lips crashed against Sherlock’s. John took himself in hand and stroked himself in a fervor, his other hand tracing the lines of the tape. Feeling where Sherlock’s supple skin was restricted by black plastic made John moan against Sherlock’s mouth, making his hand pumping harder upon himself. It didn’t long at all before John came, come splattering upon Sherlock’s bound arms across his chest.

 

            John panted and leaned on Sherlock for a while, and then he got up to fetch some scissors.  Sherlock was still too blissed out to comment as John snipped each layer of bondage, releasing Sherlock’s arms and legs. Sherlock mumbled thank you before curling up on his side and falling asleep. John fought the urge to collapse beside Sherlock and cuddle his way into slumber; instead he put on his pants and left the room. John threw away the used tape, dropped the scissors on the kitchen table, then made his way to his own bed, throwing himself onto the bed unceremoniously and falling asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm late and this chapter is not necessarily the greatest, but I promise I'm working on it! Thank you all for all of your support


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension rises, and the boys relationship escalates, moving in an almost unexpected direction.

            Though they were still men, and therefore pretty consistently up for sex, John and Sherlock took a bit of a break from shagging for a few days after “playing” two consecutive days. John wanted to make sure he didn’t push Sherlock too hard, though Sherlock figured that would be improbable, so he was all in favor for giving him a small hiatus. It was an unspoken thing, mind you, but they both knew what was going on- in fact, Sherlock even took it upon himself to be indignant about it. It went well enough, despite a small incident involving sexual frustration and a screaming match.

 

            About five days into this interim, Sherlock and John found themselves in the living room; Sherlock lounging on the couch with John’s laptop, John in his favorite chair reading a book- well, I say he was “reading,” he was mostly just letting himself think whilst simultaneously keeping his eyes in the general direction of said book. It was just a random stream of thoughts, really, though eventually those thoughts turned to the thing that took up the majority of his life: Sherlock. In all honesty, he figured it was a miracle they hadn’t decided to sleep with each other sooner. He should have always known that proximity would eventually take over- kind of like right about now.

 

            A flurry of passion suddenly coiled tight in his gut, John discarded the book in his hands, and crossed the room, causing Sherlock to look up. At about this point, John realized he hadn’t necessarily thought this through all the way to the “what to do next” portion, but luckily Sherlock seemed to get the point, shutting the laptop and sitting up. John straddled the taller man, kissing him gently enough to show his restraint. Sherlock kissed him back, unimpressed by “restraint,” and moaned his encouragement against John’s lips as he deepened the kiss.  

 

 

            Sherlock’s hands began to wander, one cupped and squeezed John’s arse, pulling him closer; the other began to unbutton the smaller man’s shirt. John caught on, adding his hands into the commotion that resulted in both parties shirtless. Cupping the back of Sherlock neck and pulling him closer, John brought them to an upright position. There, they brought themselves as close to each other as humanly possible, grinding their hips together as their tongues lapped in and out of each other’s lips.

 

            John then moved one of his hands to work Sherlock’s trouser’s button, then the zip, before snaking his way below the elastic of his pants to stroke Sherlock’s cock. Bucking into the sensation, Sherlock moaned wantonly before taking the initiative to full divest himself of his remaining clothing, pushing the offending garments down to the floor, kicking them off with out a single damn thought as to where they landed. Smirking against Sherlock’s lips, John unbuckled his belt and shimmed his jeans and boxers past his hips. Sherlock grasped John’s prick, making John shudder a breath, break their kiss, and growl into Sherlock’s ear, “Let me suck you…”

 

           Sherlock whimpered in response, nodding his head slowly as he bit his lip. John slid down Sherlock’s body, running his fingers over the sensitive expanses of pale skin before dropping to his knees and kicking his pants and jeans the rest of the way off. John then began by placing open-mouthed kisses along Sherlock’s pelvis, his neck brushing Sherlock’s cock, earning him a groan in response. Taking his time, John kissed his way to finally placing his mouth on Sherlock’s erection. Slowly he continued his affections, letting his tongue trail along the shaft, lavishing attention on the sensitive underside. Sherlock mewled, providing John with the incentive to take just the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth, suckling gently. John lapped gently, swirling his tongue to tease exactly where he knew Sherlock was most sensitive. He then took as much of Sherlock into his mouth as he could in one movement, humming contently as Sherlock yelped John’s name in pleasure.

 

“John _John please…”_

 

            John bobbed his head, moving his hand in tandem at the base of Sherlock’s shaft, continuing to hum softly. Just as Sherlock seemed to begin the final ascent to his climax, John stopped, beginning to kiss his way back to Sherlock’s lips- much to Sherlock’s chagrin. Sherlock whimpered and whined, bucking up against John’s abdomen in a fruitless search for friction as John kissed him within an inch of his life. Breaking the frantic kiss, Sherlock whispered into John’s ear:  
  
“Fuck me…”

 

“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” John nodded before kissing Sherlock once more, then took the taller man by the hand and led him to John’s bedroom. They kissed as they moved, never stopping until the backs of Sherlock’s knees hit the bed- at that, Sherlock broke the kiss:  
  
“How do you want me?”  
  
“Just as you are, love,” John replied before kissing Sherlock as he laid the detective, still slightly shocked by the almost-romantic reply, underneath him on the bed.

 

            John showered attention all over Sherlock’s body, not limiting his affections to the obvious places, but instead making love to Sherlock as a whole- a far cry from their usually quick and frantic fucks. Gropes and licks, feather-light touches and kisses left Sherlock mewling with pleasure before John even paid proper mind to his nether regions.

 

            Deeming Sherlock sufficiently turned on, John clamored over and retrieved lube and condoms from his bedside drawer. Should Sherlock have been in his right mind, he would have been able to deduce the lube’s previous uses: he would be able to provide the mental image of John, on his back, legs spread and fucking himself with his fingers, moving in time to the imagined actions of the detective in his head. John moved back to Sherlock, looming over him before kissing him soundly one more time before moving down the lengths the alabaster skin one more time, kneeling between Sherlock’s legs and stroking his cock almost lazily.

 

            One hand continued it’s ministrations on Sherlock’s prick while the other flipped open the cap of the lube bottle and then proceeded to pour the cool gel directly on Sherlock’s throbbing member. Sherlock hissed in a breath, “Ahhhh,” bucking into John’s fist as the drizzled made its way down, down, down, making a glistening path wetting Sherlock’s cleft for John’s fingers to follow. Slicking up his fingers, John asked if Sherlock was ready before slowly entering Sherlock with one finger, while the other hand was busy paying special to Sherlock’s frenulum. The taller man gasped, torn between impaling himself further on John’s hand and fucking John’s fist.

 

“You like that?”

  
“Mmmmm…”  
  
“That good?”  
  
“Nnghhhh…”

 

            Sherlock  will-out-live-God-to-get-the-last-word Holmes was beneath him and reduced to moaning, and that’s all John needed to add another finger, now loosing the patience he once had in favor of needing to fuck Sherlock as soon as humanly possible. God help him, the stretching sensation mixed with the jolts of pleasure courtesy of John’s hand on his prick left Sherlock nigh on unable to function. What made the pleasure almost intolerable was the good doctor’s knowledge of anatomy, and therefore the knowledge of how to find and stroke that sweet spot inside him, just as he had a few days previous. Then, just as one finger had become two, two now became three as Sherlock now rocked himself just so, begging John for more- and John did just that.

 

            Unable to put up this pretense of not being just as out of his mind with lust as Sherlock, John deemed Sherlock prepared enough, so he fumbled with the condom, barely managing the composure and coordination to put it on. As John slicked himself up, he looked down at Sherlock to see his pupils blown with arousal, his swollen lips, his tousled curls,  his legs spread, and his hand stroking himself- oh, God.

 

            John lined himself up with one hand, and reached up for Sherlock’s hand with the other. Their fingers intertwined as John pushed in, gasping and cursing as the tight heat enveloped his cock. Sherlock simply let out a lower, guttural moan- he reveled in the sensation of being stretched and so full, so, so full of John.  The feeling was intense, only building even after John was all the way in. John stayed still for a moment, giving Sherlock a moment to adjust, which Sherlock was less than grateful for, instead demanding for John to fuck him “now and hard!”

           

            John pulled out to the tip before driving back in again, beginning manageable pace. This did not, apparently, suit Sherlock anymore than giving him time to adjust, seeing as he was met with the same flurry of instructions and exclamations:  
  
“Oh, GOD, faster John!”

“John, John, John, HARDER!”

“JOHN, damn it- FUCK!”

 

            And these demands were effective in a way, more so because it gave John an idea as to how to shut the demanding bastard up. Sherlock moaned “Faster, John, yes!” and John slowed his thrusts, making them long and luxurious. Then, as Sherlock screamed how he wanted it “HARDER!” John switched to shallow, teasing movements.  Sherlock, for his part, tried to his damndest to get the most out of ever touch and thrust, frantic for everything John had to give. Sherlock touched himself frantically, trying to make up for the control he was not given. For every thing Sherlock cried out for, John gave him the opposite, teasing and taunting the detective closer and closer to the edge. John didn’t allow Sherlock to chase his orgasm, instead letting it come to him, letting it take him fully.  Then, seeing his partner so utterly fucked beneath him, feeling the Sherlock contract and spasm through his orgasm, and the stripes now splattered against Sherlock’s chest and abdomen, John came, softly cursing a medley of “Shit, fuck, Sherlock!”

 

            Now, with patience restored by virtue of lack of energy, the pair took their time untangling themselves from one another. John tossed the condom, acquired some tissues from the bedside table and cleaned both parties up as best as could be hoped for, then settled back into bed beside Sherlock.  
  
“You sleeping here tonight?”

 

“If you have no objection, I find I’m too…comfortable to move.”

 

“Right then.”

 

            With that, John rolled onto his good side, contented to sleep- only to be slightly startled when Sherlock maneuvered himself similarly, then wedged himself securely in the curve of John’s body. John took the hint, wrapping his arms awkwardly yet lovingly around the taller man before falling almost immediately to sleep. Sherlock took a few moments to enjoy the moment, enjoying the sounds of an obviously asleep John’s breathing, the warmth of his body and the reassuring pressure, before closing his eyes:  
  
“Goodnight, John.”  
  
There was a beat before a sleep-ladened voice replied:  
  
“’Nite, Sh’lock, love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo very sorry for the delay! I had to write this chapter in the car when it wasn't my turn to drive, then I posted it immediately when wifi became available, so bare with my mistakes. I've been on vacation, but I promise I haven't forgotten or abandoned the story...in fact, I'm thinking of writing a deleted scene that occurs during their "hiatus." 
> 
> Love the comments!  
> -M


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tenth installment cometh, this time with fluff.

            Now, my dear reader, I will impart upon you what Sherlock Holmes did in the face of the greatest problem he’d ever been faced with: in light of hearing John semi-consciously admit he was in love with the detective, Sherlock simply decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. Sherlock was frustrated with the fact that he couldn’t seem to “delete” the incident, but he dismissed that and tried to manually override every single romantic thought in regards to John Watson. This included rebuffing every subsequent request for sex from John. This led to John wordlessly going out and finding a date- and another. And another. And then another, just in time for the holidays: her name was Jeannette.

Sherlock despised Jeannette.

 

            On Christmas Eve, Jeanette dumped John after she realized she could never compete with Sherlock. This was in light of the news that Irene Adler, the woman who started it all, was dead. Upon Sherlock’s return from identifying the body and the official decree of it being a “danger night” we pick up our story:

 

            Within five minutes of Sherlock’s return, John’s overwhelming need to care for the man drew him to Sherlock’s bedroom door. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do, but he knew that Sherlock would be aware of his presence already, so he had to do something.

He rapped lightly on the wooden door, “Sherlock, please…”

There was a solid moment of silence before Sherlock came to open the door, his appearance somehow ten times more disheveled than it had been minutes ago. Before John could speak, fumbling words already bubbling on his tongue, Sherlock began: 

 

“Can you give me tonight?”   
  
“What?”

 

“May I have tonight with you? You, John, for the night in bed with me.”

 

           John nodded, not trusting whatever sounds might emerge from his mouth. Sherlock stepped aside, allowing John to enter the room. John sat gently on the edge of the bed and just waited- waited for some explanation, waited for Sherlock to make the first move, waited for Sherlock to reassure him he was okay- just waited. Sherlock crossed the room after him, then took a moment to simply take in John’s appearance in the light of the lamp. Before John had time to process that information, Sherlock’s lips were on his, claiming him, possessing him, needing him, loving him.

 

           They soon fell back into old patterns, teasing the spots on each other’s flesh that was well known to induce moans and whimpers, but this time their passion was unparalleled. Under his touch, John could swear he could feel Sherlock shaking, possibly even vibrating. The sounds John had long fought to keep in now escaped from his person in the form of moans and whimpers against Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock’s dexterous hands teased all over as John’s hands pulled Sherlock closer and tangled his fingers in the taller man’s curls. Their teeth clashed, their tongues luxuriated in exploring each other’s mouths, even ounce of skill forgotten in favor of pure enthusiasm. 

 

            The heat of the moment transformed into a simmering lust, which reaffirmed the fire that resided in their hearts- and that was enough for the night. They felt no pressure to get naked, to fuck, to come; instead their mouths and hands wandered until they felt they had sufficiently claimed one another. John then pulled back the duvet, the sheet, and climbed under with Sherlock in tow. They laid there for a moment, listening to the _pffft, pffft, pffft_ of their pulses points echoed on the sheets and the gentle sighs of their breath forming a symphony of living around them.

 

            In the morning, John would feel more rested than he had in years, more alive than he’d ever been. He’d feel as if every aspect of his life was caffeinated, and it was all because he spent the night in the arms of the person he loved.

 

            In the morning, Sherlock would eat breakfast. He would sit with John and put nourishment into his body, just because it made John happy. He would bask in the fact that John was absolutely awful at hiding his feelings, and he himself would make no effort to hide how much John had helped him. They would have a nice, shockingly domestic morning.

_“Then,”_ Sherlock decided, _“I’ll tell John I love him.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how sorry I am to have kept you lovely people waiting for this update. I haven't forgotten about this story, I promise. I posted a "deleted scene," too, so you can go check that out.   
> I'm also sorry for the lack of the smut, but I needed to get the fluff and the canonologically accurate bits out of the way first and foremost.   
> Andbutso, I love all of you lovelies and I adore hearing from you (prompts are alllllways welcome.) 
> 
> Love,   
> xxxM


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trickiest three words...

            By the time Sherlock awoke the next morning, John had been awake for quite some time. John, though he should have gotten up and started his morning like a functional adult several hours ago, was still situated entangled within Sherlock’s arms, just as he had been the night previous. Instead of getting up, getting food, getting cleaned up, and doing all the things normal people do before noon, John let his mind wander as he listened to the sound of Sherlock’s breathing, allowing the rise and fall of the other man’s chest to rock him gently. If you searched all of London, you could not find a more contented man.

 

            Whereas John was happy and lazy, Sherlock, once awake and realizing John was also, was nervous. For as certain he was about telling John he loved him, he seemed to have forgotten to make an honest-to-God plan. To wait until the moment seemed right seemed to be a hellish prospect. Instead, Sherlock held the smaller man tighter. In centuries of humans falling in love, and in the same time developing language, they seemed to have failed in coming up with a word to describe the feelings John inspired. “Love” is too short: four letters, four letters that weren’t “J,” “O,” “H,” and “N” couldn’t come close to embodying the anomaly that was the man in his arms. So, as any sensible man would do, he gave up expressing his emotions in favor on focusing on the far more understandable, physical aspect: in a voice deep and sultry, heavier even still with sleep, Sherlock growled into John’s ear, “Play with me.” 

 

            John chuckled lightly. For his part, while he was concerned for Sherlock’s well being after last night’s display, John could not deny morning sex. Besides, what problem couldn’t be momentarily resolved by an orgasm?  
  
“Alright- what do you want to play?”

 

They shifted in the bed so that they were facing one another, Sherlock biting his lip as if it were necessary, “Your choice, sir.”

 

John thought on it for a minute before he rolled Sherlock beneath and started to unbutton the younger man’s tousled shirt as he began:  
“You’re not allowed to lift your hips or your shoulders off the bed. If you lift them, I will stop touching for twenty seconds- got it, pet?”

 

A coy smile teased Sherlock’s lips, “Yes, sir.” To a man who prided himself on his control over his body, this sounded as if it was to be incredibly easy.

 

What he didn’t count upon, however, was John’s incredible hands and lips. Because he wasn’t allowed to lift his shoulders, Sherlock’s rumpled shirt remained on but open. John’s hands teased along the line of Sherlock’s trousers, dipping just below them as his mouth assaulted Sherlock’s neck and nipples mercilessly. Sherlock reacted very vocally, whining and whimpering as one could only hope for. Suddenly, John’s hands moved up to simultaneously pinch both of the detective’s nipples as his mouth latched onto the most sensitive section of his neck, sucking. The combined attack of pleasure and pain caused Sherlock to arch off the bed, his shoulders leaving the bedding indefinitely. John watched as Sherlock tried to correct fast enough that John wouldn’t notice, which was cute, but he would have no such luck.  John removed himself immediately, sitting back on his heels.

 

“Ah, ah, ah, pet.”

 

Sherlock gasped at the lack of contact, and then bit his lip as to prevent anymore noises from escaping to give away how desperate he was for John’s touch. As to waste no time, as John counted down on Sherlock’s punishment, he also removed his own clothes. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” John’s shirt was gone, “nine, ten, eleven, twelve,” his shoes were kicked off, socks following, “thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” his buckle left the loops of his trousers with a satisfying whoosh, “seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,” his trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped.

 

This time John took no time in teasing. He unfastened Sherlock’s trousers, yanking them and his pants down as far as he could without having to have the taller man lift his hips. Immediately, his tongue lapped at Sherlock’s balls, continuing on to lick upward along the underside of his shaft more so each time. Within a minute, Sherlock’s hips snap up to meet John’s mouth. Once again, John stopped his ministrations.

 

As Sherlock whimpered below him, John pushed his own pants down, freeing his cock. Staring down upon man so desperate beneath him, John grabbed his cock and groaned as he stroked as he counted to twenty. Once he was done, he looked into Sherlock’s lust-blown eyes as he lowered his head again, this time taking as much of Sherlock into his mouth at once as he could. As expected, Sherlock yelped in pleasure as he thrust into John’s mouth, earning him another time out. John rolled back onto his heels again as he began the count as he ghosted his fingers along his own erection.

 

“One, two, ahhhhh, three, four, fiiiiive,” Sherlock wriggled beneath him, hips canting of their own accord, causing John to scold him, “Sorry, but you know the rules, we’ll have to start the count at one again…One, two, three…”

“Please, please, PLEASE, John!”  
  
“…eight, nine, please what, pet?”

“Please touch me! Please put your mouth on me, sir!”

“Wait for your punishment to be over, then you can touch yourself, how about that?”

 

Sherlock whimpered in agreement as John finished his count, then nodded to Sherlock that he was free. Watching John’s hands on his body, the sounds he made as he was touching himself were enough to fuel Sherlock’s almost frantic thrusts into his hand. John did the same, though his pace was steadier and more controlled. John kicked off his trousers and pants all the way and moved so that his knees were straddling Sherlock’s hips, his hand moving faster until he came with a shouted curse, spilling his come onto Sherlock’s chest. Having John come on him drove Sherlock to the edge, finishing almost directly after his partner.

 

Feeling entirely spent, John collapsed forward, and then rolled off to the side of Sherlock, back to his spot in the bed from the night before. Sherlock lay there for a moment while his brain began functioning, a product of which jumped forth out of his mouth and into the silence but for the sound of their panting in that moment:

“I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this story wont go on for more than fifteen chapters. I just thought I'd let you all know...  
> Anyway, comments and suggests are always welcome, and I love everyone of you whom read my work and leave feedback!
> 
> -xxxM


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Absolute fluff.

 

     Wishful auditory hallucinations- that was new _._ John was absolutely sure he could not have possible heard Sherlock say what he thought he heard Sherlock say. Still, he propped himself up on his elbow to face the taller man, and, using a voice perfectly calculated to be not too surprised and not too hopeful, asked, “What was that?”

 

     Sherlock’s mouth floundered open for a moment, eyes coming to meet John’s before he attempted to force the sentiment from his mouth again:  
“John, I believe I love you.”

 

     The shock on John’s face was quickly quashed by the delight that poured over his features, leading to an irreplaceable twinkle in the older man’s eyes. Despite his elation, John still fancied himself a man, so he hurried to adjust his face as to not be overflowing with emotion. The world’s most observant man, however, didn’t miss it. In return, Sherlock flashed him a gloriously relieved smile, to which John chuckled in response. John’s placed his hand on Sherlock’s chest, feeling the glorious heat produced in evidence that Sherlock Holmes did have a heart.

 

 “I believe I love you, too.” John smiled.

There’s a beat, then Sherlock said quietly, “I know.”

“That observant, are you?”

“You said it in your sleep.”

“Oh. And you let me go on like that?”  
  
“I was trying to think of a way to tell you.”  
  
“Because telling me after a shag is so romantic, you berk.” John chuckled .

 

Sherlock suddenly looked very serious: “Maybe I think it is; you have no idea what I consider romantic. That’s the thing, John, I can’t _court_ you. I won’t. I want to be with you in a romantic sense as well as a sexual sense, but you can’t expect me to change.”

 

While that brought up a significant point in John’s brain, he quickly moved to soothe the situation.   
  
“Sherlock, I think I’ve made it clear I want you, not Hugh Grant. I know what I’m getting into- I’ve lived with you, remember? I want to be open about loving you, though. I don’t want crazy romantic gestures, though it’d be nice if you’d stop using my favorite mugs as Petri dishes. I want to be able to let you know how you make me feel. Sherlock, I want to love you out loud. That’s it. I don’t want you to change, not one bit. I don’t want any acting, any pageantry. Okay?”

Sherlock wanted to tell John no, to tell him to cut his losses and get out, but instead he said “Okay.”

 

“Okay.” said John, and he took Sherlock’s hand and brought it to his lips, and began leaving a trail of kisses up Sherlock’s arm, on his shoulder, up his neck, and finally kissing Sherlock fully on the lips.

 

0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o0

            Two weeks later, Sherlock was shipped off to Glasgow for a case. John had to put some hours in at the surgery, so he stayed behind for the two days Sherlock was set to be gone. On the first day Sherlock was out, John came home from his shift absolutely knackered, so he immediately went to Sherlock’s bed (which had become “their” bed) to turn in for the night. As he arranged himself in bed, he looked up: above him in glow-in-the-dark stick on stars was arranged the words “I love you.” On each star was written in the scrawled handwriting of the detective the proper name of a star, such as Lamdba Draconis and Gienah, except for the very last star in the very last letter- on that star Sherlock had written in tiny handwriting “Does this count as a ‘crazy romantic gesture’?”

 

            John grabbed his phone and tapped out a short message to Sherlock:  
“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every dozen chapters I get to write a short, fluffy drabble right? We had to get the "I Love You"s out of the way, I think. Back to porn for the next one, I promise. Any suggestions? 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and support-
> 
> Mxxx


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, and the beginning of an new era for the boys and their relationship.

            When John walked up to the bar to meet Greg for a pint, Greg noticed two things: one) John was walking oddly, and two) he was wearing a gold band on his left ring finger.   
“Oi, what’s going on with you?” Greg asked as John took the seat next to him.   
“Sherlock.” John grumbled as he grinned before launching into the full story, bringing Greg up to speed.

 

0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

            After the star incident, Sherlock generally was not known for his romantic tendencies. This was perfectly fine by John, mind you, especially given that he secretly assumed Molly had something to do with the grand gesture; he was content with their normality from before with only a few tweaks.  The boys continued shagging like the world was going to end next Tuesday, said “I love you” more often, and occasionally kissed and held hands in instances they would not have before. To John, this was heaven- even to Sherlock this was heaven, even if he felt ridiculous half the time. All was well and good- until Irene Adler decided she needed to still be alive.

 

            In the ensuing chaos that surrounded John’s meeting with Ms. Adler (you know what happened there, don’t you?) and the incident involving Mrs. Hudson and the Americans that followed shortly afterward, Sherlock and John reverted to their “on a case” mode: nothing really distinguishing them from their prior-to-sleeping-together selves. It was as if they’d travelled back to the time where John had to bid for Sherlock’s attention, insecure about whether he was worth the detective’s time. Sherlock did little to help matters, terse in his inability to crack the code on the Woman’s phone. The normal smog of London was no match for the grey thickness of tension and unease inside 221B. It was in this climate that Sherlock decided he needed to see Irene- now, and John was to come, too.

 

            In her “death,” Miss Adler had taken occupation in planning several BDSM clubs and acting as hostess on the evenings. To find Miss Adler, all one had to do was come to a party and find “the woman in the mask”. This was simple enough, but Sherlock and John had to get into the gathering, first. The rules of the engagement were as follows: to enter the inner room of the gathering, the couples were expected to redress- the submissive partner was to don the shirt of the dominate partner, while the dominate partner went without. “It’s like a flag above a fort,” Sherlock explained, “it signifies that that person in claimed, while simultaneously allowing the dom to appear victorious in a very primal way- no doubt it was the Woman’s idea.”

 

           As they entered the club’s foyer, John turned to Sherlock expectantly:   
“Give me your shirt,” he said as he looked Sherlock directly in the eye, watching his face contort in confusion- even though this had nothing to do with their bedroom lives, Sherlock had assumed John would be the dominate partner. It made more sense this way, allowing Sherlock to do most of the talking, but Sherlock was still somehow…disappointed that he was not John’s sub in that moment. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, then his shirt, handing the jacket to the staff and the shirt to John. As John disrobed similarly, he kept his eyes on Sherlock, expression giving nothing away- but when he went to slip on Sherlock’s shirt, his skin felt electrified at the touch of the fabric and the concept of being Sherlock’s, wearing Sherlock’s “flag.” With the shirt loosely buttoned , John nodded tightly, signaling Sherlock to come to his side, where he placed a hand possessively on the small of John’s back, leading the smaller man forward into the main room.

 

          It took the detective no more than a few moments to scout out the Woman, and begin moving himself and John in her direction. Keeping a firm hand on John, Sherlock placed himself directly in front of her, towering over her before leaning down and saying something into her ear. John couldn’t hear what was being said, but he watched as what was exposed of the Woman’s features shifted from her usual cocky coquettishness to something a bit more fearful. She then whispered something fervently before straightening herself up again, regaining composure and saying something else before strutting off to God-knows-where.   
  
“What was all that, then?” John asked.

  
  
“I told her I knew she needed me, and to stop her games.”

 

“And?”

  
  
“She told me that she would be the judge of when she needed me, and when she’d stop her games…and that there were rooms here for our use, should we want one.”

 

There was a pause as John looked around the room, then up to Sherlock, “Okay.”

  
  
“Hmm?”

 

“Okay, go get a room.”

  
  
“Seriously, John?”

 

“She wants to act all pervy in her desire to have us shag, we’ll do it.”

  
  
“John, we don’t have to-”

 

“Sherlock, I’m standing here in a sex club, wearing your shirt. It’d be weird if we didn’t take advantage.”   
  
            Sherlock stood there a moment, considering, then nodded. He led the way back to the foyer, up the stairs, and into one of the open rooms before grabbing a “Do Not Disturb” sign, and placing it on the door, slamming it shut. This particular room had a plush red bed, a mirror on the ceiling, and a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. John surveyed the room, finding the bedside table fully stocked with every and anything they might need, and all the while Sherlock just watched him. Finally, John turned to Sherlock and motioned for him to come over, kissing him when he arrived. It was familiar, unrushed, and loving, their mouths accustomed to one another in the best sort of way. The heat of knowing what was coming boiled low in their abdomens, their hands moving to stroke every inch of sensitive skin they knew. John had the advantage, being that Sherlock was already shirtless, and he abused that mercilessly, teasing the detective’s nipples and tracing lines with his fingers lightly down to the line of his trousers.

 

            Sherlock went to remove his shirt off of John, but John stopped him, “Let me leave it on,” he growled. Sherlock obliged, but made quick work of John’s trousers and pants, leaving John to simply step out of his clothes. John crawled up onto the bed, leaving Sherlock to remove the rest of his attire before joining him. They knelt in the center of the bed, allowing theirs hands to wander, and their lips and tongues to do the same. In their comfortable intimacy, John threw in a wild card- he laid himself back on the bed, guiding Sherlock to follow, pulling the taller man on top of him. John rocked his hips up against Sherlock, moaning “I want you to take me.”

 

            Pausing for only a moment to readjust from his usual role, Sherlock nodded before resuming his ministrations on the doctor, now stroking both of their cocks teasingly with long, languid touches. Just as John was about to plead and beg for more, Sherlock rolled off from atop him, reaching for lube out of the bedside stand. John groaned at the lack of contact, but then groaned louder when Sherlock’s slicked finger traced his entrance. Sherlock watched John’s hips cant to encourage him to slowly slide a finger inside, building into Sherlock finger fucking John open thoroughly, adding another finger, then another as John took all Sherlock had to give. Thrusting himself onto Sherlock’s fingers, John was almost a moaning wreck by the time Sherlock decided he’d had enough.   
“I want you to ride me,” Sherlock instructed as he slicked up his length, “and if you’re any good, I might let you come.”

            Sherlock lay back with his head at the foot of the bed, inviting John to do as he was told with a perfect view in the mirror of what was happening. The shorter man straddled him, guiding Sherlock’s cock inside of him slowly, his head tipping back in ecstasy as Sherlock filled every inch of him with a slow burn. Once fully seated, John began to rock gently, experimenting with how it felt when Sherlock’s prick hit _right there_. John built pace quickly, Sherlock’s shirt hanging off his frame, sticking to him with sweat as he watched himself in the mirror as he fucked himself on Sherlock’s cock.  The sight alone nearly finished John off, and beneath him, Sherlock was moaning shamelessly and cursing between gasps: “Oh, fuuuuuck. Shit shit shit shit. Oh, God, Jooooohn…” It was almost embarrassing how little time it took for Sherlock to cry out, coming deep inside John. He reached forward and took John’s prick in hand, stroking it furiously until the other man was coating his hand in sticky white ropes, screaming out Sherlock’s name.

 

0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

“So that explains why you’re-”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“In a club? How posh are you! Couldn’t do it in a pub’s bathroom like everyone else!” Greg laughed.

  
  
“You know how he is, couldn’t stand to be ordinary, could he?” John added with a chuckle.

 

“But that doesn’t explain the…the...”

 

“The what?”

 

“The ring!”

 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. Wellllll-” and of John launched again into his story.

 

0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

            John lay in the curve of Sherlock’s body, utterly at peace with the world. No “Woman,” nor man could disturb his perfect state of mind. Sherlock’s breath was warm on his shoulder, his arm draped possessively across the doctor. Suddenly, out of the cozy silence, Sherlock’s nervous voice rang out:  
  
“Marry me.”

There was a pregnant pause before John smiled and rolled to look Sherlock in the face, “Yeah, okay. Yes.” 

Sherlock’s crooked smile crawled onto his face as he laughed a blissfully relieved and happy laugh, and kissed John with everything in his being. John broke the kiss:  
  
“One condition, though- you stop telling me and asking me important things in bed after sex, because this has gotten bloody ridiculous.” With that, he laughed as his lips met Sherlock’s once again, like all that had just transpired was the most normal and natural thing  in all the world to occur.  

 

0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o

 

“So yeah, Mycroft pushed the papers, and Molly helped Sherlock pick out the rings. We’re legally married as of two days ago.” John finished with a drink of his beer.

 

“Well, congratulations, mate!” Greg said, clapping John on the back.

 

“Yup. I’ll tell you what: nothing’s really changed between us- and it’s bloody perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I originally promised fifteen chapters, but tragically I seem to have lost my muse on this story, for which I offer my most sincere apologies. I wanted to finish up this story today because today marks my one year anniversary writing smut on this site- I've been reading fanfiction since "slash" and "lemon" were ratings, and I've come a very, very long way in my writing, so I wanted to celebrate that by putting a cap on this story today. Also, I get the fantastically unique opportunity of uploading this while we're -in the middle of a season.-   
> (By the way, I "suited up" for writing this. I have all of my Johnlock paraphernalia in play, and even have a suit on, all for this.)   
> You all have been absolutely lovely, and I adore your feedback. Thank you, loves, for everything.   
> -xxxM


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